Vengeance in His Bed

The front doors of the Grefo mansion groaned open, allowing the freezing, midnight air to spill into the grand foyer.

Inside, the atmosphere was instantly thick with a suffocating, silent tension. Joanne and Damian were sitting in the central lounge area, resting while they waited, their expressions perfectly schooled into masks of casual detachment. The moment the doors parted, their eyes snapped toward the incoming group.

Jannah was being carried in Shadron’s arms. During the short drive from the upper-district hospital, Shadron had reasoned with his friend, pointing out that if Dorrent carried the herbalist across the threshold himself, it would look like the billionaire tycoon cared about her to an unnatural degree. It would bring immediate, devastating doubts to Joanne’s mind and expose his vulnerability. Dorrent had ultimately allowed the arrangement, though his inner Alpha had absolutely loathed the decision, his silver eyes burning holes into Shadron’s back the entire time.

The moment Damian saw Jannah’s fragile form wrapped in Dorrent’s heavy outer coat, his possessive instincts took over. He stood up rapidly, his footsteps echoing sharply against the polished floor as he approached.

"Hand her over to me immediately," Damian commanded, his voice tight and professional as he smoothly took Jannah’s limp body from Shadron’s grip, carefully supporting her plastered right hand and bandaged ribs. He looked directly at Dorrent, his eyes narrowing. "Where exactly should she be taken for the primary phase of the volumetric treatment?"

Dorrent stood rigid, his fists clenching so hard inside his pockets that his knuckles popped in the quiet foyer. He hated every single millisecond of another Alpha touching her skin, but he forced his voice into a cold, flat register. "There is a fully equipped medical bed inside her private quarters upstairs." Dorrent raised a hand, pointing toward the grand staircase. "The room is positioned right next to my master suite. Take her there now."

Without waiting for another word, Damian turned and carried the unconscious, shivering girl up the stairs. Exhausted by the crushing weight of the night’s shadow war, the rest of the group silently headed toward their respective rooms upstairs to seek whatever temporary relief they could find.

Dorrent marched straight into his master bedroom, the doors shutting with a sharp, echoing click. Joanne followed closely behind him, her tight crimson dress rustling against the quiet air of the private suite. Without acknowledging her presence for a single second, Dorrent immediately began shedding his formal attire, tearing off his cufflinks and changing into a dark, casual silk shirt. His face was a hard, unyielding mask of absolute restlessness. He didn’t sit down; instead, he immediately pivoted back toward the exit, his large frame projecting a dangerous, predatory urgency.

Before his hand could even touch the brass doorknob, Joanne lunged forward. Her manicured fingers grabbed his muscular arm with fierce, desperate strength, physically halting his advance.

"Where on earth do you think you are heading at this hour, Dorrent?" Joanne demanded, her smooth voice carrying a sharp, defensive edge as she stared up at his rigid profile.

Dorrent didn’t look at her, his silver eyes fixed entirely on the door separating him from Jannah’s room. "I am going right next door to check on how Damian is doing with Jannah. I need to personally monitor the progress of the antidote treatment."

Joanne let out a sharp, incredulous breath, her grip tightening on his sleeve. "You shouldn’t be so worried about her, Dorrent! Damian is her boyfriend. He loves her, and he is a top-tier medical expert; he will never let anything bad happen to her . You are the CEO of Gammer Technology, not a night nurse. Let them have their private space."

"I do not trust a Boren Mafia son at all, Joanne," Dorrent growled, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrated with an intense territorial fire. "Let me remind you of the facts—she was shot by his own psychotic father. I will not leave a vulnerable servant alone with a mafia operative in my own house."

"She will be perfectly fine, Dorrent! Just drop it and stay here with me!" Joanne assured him, her voice rising as her internal composure began to fracture under his cold, dismissive attitude.

"No, she won’t be fine," Dorrent countered flatly, finally snapping his head around to look down at her, his silver eyes swamped with an absolute, unyielding coldness. "I am going into that room."

Hearing those words, Joanne completely lost it. The three long years of accumulated rejection, the humiliating lack of physical touch, and the madness of watching her powerful fiancé obsess over a common servant finally broke through her. She ripped her hand away from his arm, her beautiful face twisting into a mask of fury and heartbreak.

"Why the hell are you so concerned about a normal, penniless house maid, Dorrent?!" Joanne shrieked, her voice cracking with an intense, agonizing emotion that echoed off the high ceilings. "Is there something that you are not telling me?! Tell me the truth! Is it because she is somehow more beautiful than me?! Is it because she has that pale, slim complexion that she has successfully confused your mind too?! Am I, Joanne Moscow, really that ugly to your eyes?!"

Step by step, she pressed into his space, tears of frustration welling in her eyes as she gestured wildly toward the closed door. "Look at how you are behaving tonight! Even when I had been severely sick last winter, you never cared for my body that much! You barely sent a text! And what about my heat periods, Dorrent?! Even during my most intense, agonizing heat cycles, you never show up to comfort me! You are always busy at the office, always hiding behind your administrative meetings! Am I really so utterly undeserving of you that you can’t even bring yourself to fuck me?! It has been three whole years since our families signed that alliance, Dorrent... three years, and we have never fucked a single time!"

The humiliating truth hung between them like a ticking bomb, Joanne’s chest heaving as she waited for his cold, automated rejection.

But Dorrent didn’t speak a single word. His silver eyes swamped with a sudden, predatory fire as her words pushed his limits to the edge. Before another agonizing syllable could escape her trembling lips, Dorrent lunged forward with explosive, suffocating speed. His massive hands wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her statuesque frame flush against his hard chest as he bent down and cut her short, sealing her lips with his own in a deep, crushing kiss.